I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf,

Now We Are All Fallen, Youth From Their Fear, And Age From That Which Bred It, Good Example.

Art Hath An Enemy Call'd Ignorance .

Come, My Celia, Let Us Prove, While We Can, The Sports Of Love, Time Will Not Be Ours For Ever, He, At Length, Our Good Will Sever; Spend Not Then His Gifts In Vain: Suns That Set May Rise Again; But If Once We Lose This Light, 'tis With Us Perpetual Night. Why Should We Defer Our Joys? Fame And Rumour Are But Toys.

A Good Poet's Made As Well As Born.

O, For An Engine, To Keep Back All Clocks, Or Make The Sun Forget His Motion!